Likeness
by Tamashi.no.Koe
Summary: It's easy to hate a rival that's a snobby, obnoxious brat. But when the rival's a kind, caring girl who is incidentally your best friend and is more in Fuji's likeness than you are, hating her takes a little more skill. AnFujiOC
1. Crossing Paths

**LIKENESS**

* * *

_Chapter One - **Crossing Paths**_

* * *

_**- Fuji -**_

"Bye, Fujiko!" Eiji waved an enthusiastic arm—Oishi ducked and narrowly avoided being hit—as we went our separate ways. "See you tomorrow!"

"Ja." Waving back—a little less animatedly—I adjusted the strap of my school bag on my shoulder and set off, humming. It had been a good day.

Actually, it hadn't been a particularly good day, but had gone as smoothly as an average day could, therefore ruling it out as a bad day. Any _not _bad day was a good day to me. You may not agree with my reasoning, but I found it an effective way to increase my number of 'good days' significantly.

It made my life happier in general.

In no hurry, I walked slowly along the quiet streets leading me homeward, soaking in the warm sunlight. I enjoyed these walks home a lot. There was something about excruciating, demanding fitness training that made moving leisurely afterwards extra special.

With an easy gait I climbed the stairs to the small footbridge I cross every day going to and coming back from school. My neighborhood being one of the more sub-urban parts of Tokyo, I was pretty much guaranteed a decent view as long as I gained some altitude. This bridge had provided me with many a good photo with its picturesque scenery.

Today as I crossed it, admiring the afternoon glow, I noticed a figure huddled to one side. The beggar woman hadn't been there before, that I was sure of. Where had she come from?

Searching in my pockets, I heard the clink of some spare change. Drawing out a few coins, I stooped down and dropped them into the small bowl in front of her.

"You came back."

I halted in mid-step. Turning in surprise, I found the old woman looking up at me, smiling.

"Thank you for your orange."

_Orange?_ But I definitely hadn't seen the woman before. How had she come to believe that I'd given her an orange? "Saa," I said gently. "I'm sorry, I think you've mixed me up with someone else."

She did not answer, but touched her ear. I struggled to comprehend what that meant. Was there something wrong with her hearing? Certainly she expected me to understand _something_. Thoroughly puzzled at her behavior—had we met before, only that I'd forgotten?—I repeated my words with my voice slightly raised.

Apparently catching the sentence this time, the woman looked mildly bewildered. "She looked like you," she mumbled softly. "So much like you."

Trying to smile kindly, I explained that I'd only seen her for the first time. Clearly embarrassed, she apologized for bothering me.

"It's fine," I assured her before moving on. "I don't mind."

I couldn't help wondering about her mistake, though, even as I left her behind and neared my house. My masculinity wasn't exactly outstanding, as schoolmates pointed out occasionally. But on one had actually mistaken me for a girl before. Only, the beggar woman had clearly said 'she'. That 'she' looked like me.

Amused, I smiled at the thought of a girl who looked enough like me for us to be mistaken for each other. Evidently she'd met the beggar woman too, and given her some food. An orange was a strange selection, though. What had happened?

* * *

_Nine hours ago…_

_**- Saruhi -**_

I came across the photos quite by accident. My Tou-san was between jobs, you see, and had a lot more spare time on his hands than he used to, to spend on things he enjoyed. Lately he had become interested in business and stocks and stuff like that. He spent a lot of time searching the Internet for information on the market and how it functioned.

I think that's how he found those pictures. He showed them to me afterwards. There were around thirty, all by Chinese photographers.

If you've ever been to mainland China to visit relatives, or as a tourist, you'll find that some places, you can't really tell apart from cities like New York or Tokyo. Except all the signs hanging around are in Chinese.

It isn't a poor country, China.

The pictures I saw, though, they showed the other side. Behind the luxury and beauty. You know what I mean. Those photos of pitiful African children—except these were Chinese—with jutting out bones and all. The photos establishments like the World Bank use to get us to donate. You've seen them often enough; they probably don't bring about too much of an effect anymore.

That's what I thought too—that I didn't feel for any of these people. In fact, if you asked me what the pictures showed, I wouldn't be able to recall much. Perhaps a few of them, but definitely not that many, and definitely not in too much detail.

There was one, though, that I remember to this day.

There was an old woman. Poor and filthy, she carried a load of cardboard boxes flattened into a pile almost taller than her and twice as wide. They didn't look heavy, those boxes. And yet to her, they probably were.

Anyway, I didn't think much about it after I'd seen it and had gone back to my own work. It was only later in the day that I came to dwell on it again.

After dinner, my Kaa-san sent me to a store to buy some odds and ends for her. On the way home, I decided to take the scenic route and crossed a bridge above a near deserted roadway.

There, I saw her.

Dirty, bent, huddled to one side of the road, the old woman nodded her head repeatedly in pleading bows, her wrinkled hands pressed together as though in prayer. I was forcefully reminded of the photo I'd seen earlier on. Feeling sentimental, I gave her a dollar, all the while being very self-conscious, wondering if the passersby were staring.

I needn't have worried—the old woman herself didn't look up.

So I went on my way. I crossed the bridge, all the while thinking back on the old beggar. What would she do with my dollar? Would it help her at all? There could only have been two or three more dollars in the bowl in front of her. What would that buy?

Was she cold? It was a warm night, but then I had a coat on. Was she hungry? I'd just had a meal and was full, but how could that be possible for her, seeing as she was on the street begging? With every step I took, I wondered if I should turn back.

At the end of the bridge, I faced the steps, and stopped. I didn't feel good about myself. I didn't. I'd juts received my pocket money today and had more than a hundred dollars on me.

I'd given her one.

I'll be truthful with you—I was not filled with a righteous sense of duty to help the poor. I was not inspired by any magnificent plans to raise funds and sacrifice my energy and time to ending poverty.

I just felt bad, because I could have spared more than a dollar.

So I turned back. Yes, I know it's a little strange. It wasn't something I would normally have done, either. Perhaps it was because of the photos I'd seen. Picking up speed, I crossed the bridge again, knowing the old woman would still be there and yet worrying that she might not. I knew I wouldn't be able to feel comfortable with myself for a long time afterwards, if she had gone.

The photos really had impact.

I walked as fast as I could across the bridge, but ironically, when the woman came back into sight, I slowed.

I was nervous.

Pathetic, isn't it? I was about to extend charity and I was the one who felt jittery, who wondered whether the woman would recognize me from before, though I couldn't pinpoint why that bothered me. It just did.

My wallet was in my hand. My feet had stopped completely.

_Well. This is awkward._

_Yeah? Think about how awkward it must be for _her_. And _she's_ sticking it out._

_But I'm not her! I don't need to hang around asking for people's extra change._

_Which is exactly why you're doing this._

I had a point. Or some of me did, anyway.

It almost seemed unreal when my hand reached into my wallet and drew out the first bill I touched. A ten dollar. While my mind continued to be undecided on whether I should do it or not, my feet carried me forwards.

I would drop off my money and leave. That was the plan.

Accordingly I neared the old woman, stretched out a hand, bent down and placed my banknote in the bowl.

I straightened. My work here was done. Now I could walk away without a qualm.

But then, the old lady looked up.

Not expecting this, I could do nothing but stare at her full in the face.

I wouldn't know how you think of homeless people. The tattered clothes and matted hair are pretty much universal images, I think. But the face/ what do you think their face would be like? I hadn't really thought about it before. I'd anticipated a few wrinkles, perhaps, but nothing specific.

I said before that she resembled a picture I'd seen earlier.

Now I realized that I'd never really _looked_.

She has nice eyes, was my first thought. They were wide, crinkled at the ends. The moment they met mine, it struck me that I saw something there which I definitely hadn't expected.

Life.

Hope. Optimism. Whatever you call it. A look I hadn't seen since…since a long time ago. I was amazed by how very, very _alive_ she was.

Without thinking, I knelt down beside her, setting down my bag of groceries. "Are you hungry?"

She held up a hand to her ear. "I can't hear very well," she said in a soft voice.

Refusing to be thrown off balance, I rummaged through my bag. Finally, I drew out an orange. "Are you hungry?" I asked again, more loudly, rubbing my stomach for good measure.

The woman repeated the motion. "Yes," she said. "Hungry."

Hesitating, but too far in to back off, I held out the orange. "Would you like…?"

"You don't want it?"

Not knowing what to say—she probably wouldn't have heard it anyway—I pressed the bright fruit into her hands. "For you," I said firmly.

Her gaze followed mine as I stood up. Satisfied that there was nothing more I could afford to give her, I smiled and left.

* * *

_Twelve hours ago…_

_**- An -**_

It was just the two of us, Saruhi and I. Hey, don't get the wrong idea, we got along with the rest of our class just fine. Friends with all the girls and all. But we were the only to females from Fudomine in our year at Seigaku High, so we tended to stick together more.

"Seriously, how are we supposed to get by here?" I complained, eyeing the crowd around the tennis courts apprehensively.

"Bear with them for a day." Saruhi shrugged dispassionately. "Ranking matches, remember? 'Course people want to watch."

Sometimes, her 'live and let live' attitude got to me. Like now. "I understand why _they're_ here." I pointed to a group of boys dressed in white shirts with green collars and matching green trousers cheering their club-mates on. "But what about _them_?"

Saruhi glanced in the direction I'd indicated. "They're…" She shrugged again. "Going through a phase?" she suggested. "Hormones?"

I scoffed. "If it's a phase, it's lasted from the beginning of junior high till now. And hormones? We're the same age as them, remember? _We're_ not going crazy, if you haven't noticed." I could never figure out why she could tolerate _those_ girls the way she did. It was almost like she could _sympathize_ with the fangirls, for some incomprehensible reason.

Surprisingly, she smiled wryly. "We're not? Really?" And grinning wider, "Well, _I'm_ not. As for you…"

"What?" I squinted at her suspiciously.

"I think Momo for one would disagree with the 'not going crazy' part."

That was something else I didn't get. What did guys have against dates anyway? "It's not called 'going crazy'," I contradicted for the thousandth time. "It's called 'being assertive'."

Saruhi simply smirked lightly in disbelief.

"Anyway," I continued, "With all the screaming air-heads around here, you'd think actual assertiveness would be refreshing. I mean, I you like a guy, just _tell _him instead of squealing behind his back." As the general population did.

"Heh," my friend grimaced weakly. "You're different, An."

"But I just don't under—"

"Let's say the rest of us have a different definition of 'assertive'," Saruhi cut in dryly. "And a different idea of when to use it. Just leave it at that. Look, I think I can see an escape route."

Giving me a small tug, she led me around a narrow, narrow path between swooning girls and a concrete wall.

Grumbling, I complied. "What's up with you, anyway?" I burst out once we had left the crowds behind. "You act like you actually understand them. But you're _not_ like them. I haven't heard you shriek like them in my life. What gives?"

Amazingly, she only chuckled weakly. "It's…not that hard."

I wondered about that. Saruhi was one of the more sensible classmates I knew, after all. She wasn't like those other girls. She wasn't like—like _that_.

Definitely not.

She couldn't be.


	2. Similar Names

**LIKENESS**

* * *

_Chapter Two - **Similar Names**_

* * *

The details of the assignment lay written in my notebook, waiting to be put to use. Tapping out a steady beat with the tip of my pen, I considered my options.

**A Smile to Remember.**

That was all I had to go on for my presentation—a smile to remember. I won't lie to you; the solution jumped out at me the moment I saw the topic. But it occurred to me that as this was for an _oral_ presentation to my _whole Japanese Language class_—this included An—describing Fuji's smile wouldn't be my smartest move. I would earn an instant reputation as a fan girl. And An for one despised them.

Besides, I was no fan girl. I admired Fuji, true. But I didn't follow him around, gasping at his every move. I didn't breathlessly fawn over him at every chance. I didn't coo over his success in the tennis circle in junior high while knowing perfectly well that he had chosen the Photography Club and Gardening Club over tennis since he'd entered Seigaku High.

I was no idiot fan girl. No way in hell was I going to portray myself as one.

It was therefore totally unfair; because I wasn't a fan girl, I was now confined to my room, thinking over other possible candidates for my smile to remember instead of spouting out a gushing description of Fuji's hotness and getting it over with like any other shallow…fan girl.

Near the end of my tether, I fidgeted restlessly in front of my desk. Who else could I write about?

My parents? _No, I see them every day. No surprise I remember their smiles._

My teacher? _The hitch—they don't smile enough for me to remember anything._

My friends? The greatest potential lay there. But as much a good friend as An was, I really didn't see much difference between her smile and anyone else's. And Fuji was out of the picture, obviously.

Who did that leave then? My social circle didn't really include that many more people. Unless I wrote about some random passerby on the street…

At that I sat up.

I'd been struck by a sudden idea.

* * *

"Saa…excuse me…my next class…" I helplessly tried—and failed—to make my voice heard over the loud chatter of the girls around me.

"Fuji-kun! Are you having lunch after this period? Can I sit with you then, _please_?"

"Fuji-kun! I saw your latest photos. They're _so_ cool."

"Fu—Fuji—k—kun…" The girl blushed, covered her mouth and rushed away.

I stared after her wistfully.

How was it that she could withdraw so quickly while I couldn't move an inch?

"Hey!" One of the crowd yelled angrily over the din, "You're all getting in his way, you know."

The tone with which she said it was slightly harsher than I would have liked, but the message itself was in the right general direction. There were a few rather whiny responses from the other girls, but that didn't stop the dark-haired figure from charging right through them.

"I'm _so_ sorry they're bothering you," the girl said sweetly. "Let's get you out of here. You're right; you need to get to class."

To everyone else's outrage, she took my wrist and proceeded to plough through the sea of protesting students.

Their anger, however, as no match for hers.

"Come on, move! Can't you tell you're in his way?"

"Ow, your elbow," one of them grimaced in genuine pain.

"Out of the way!"

"Maa," I said to the girl leading me gently. "Please don't be so rough. I'm not really in a hurry anyway. You're hurting them—"

"Daijobou, Fuji," she told me complacently, smiling again. Then, "Hear me? Out of his way!"

We got through to open space in the end.

"Hey! Who do you think you are, hogging Fuji-kun to yourself?" One of those we had left behind spoke up indignantly, apparently rubbing a sore side. I had a pretty good idea of what happened there.

"Hogging?" The girl still hadn't let go of my wrist. "The rest of _you_ weren't letting him _breath_. Do you _have_ to crowd him like that?"

"Well _you're_ the one who won't let _us_ breathe. You nearly pushed us all over!"

With both girls fired up, the yelling began. The majority of the remaining people took sides with the brunette who'd challenged the one who'd helped me, and the whole affair escalated into a huge shouting match. The only good thing that came out of it was that my wrist was freed in the confusion.

"Fuji! What's going on here?" A harried Oishi rushed over, worriedly eyeing the beginning of a full scale cat fight.

"I'm trying to stop them," I told him, a tad wearily. Except my voice was lost among all the other much louder ones. Ironic, how these girls were supposedly fighting over _me_, and yet wouldn't listen to a word I said.

"Hogger!"

"Air-head!"

"Fuji—" Oishi inserted himself between the two adversities, looking harassed, trying to keep them apart while they struggled to pull each other's hair. "Go to class! I have a free period now—I'll try to—"

But then the slapping began, and he got too preoccupied to say any more.

"Please, stop!" I had a lost go at doing damage control. In a rare, spare moment, Oishi waved me away insistently.

Still feeling rather bad about having caused so much trouble, I had no choice but to retreat.

Because we had rotating lunch periods, I had less trouble getting down to the canteen. Once I got there, I settled into a table with my friends—all present regulars and tennis club members—with much relief. "Ne, Oishi, I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble," I apologized immediately.

"Daijobou, daijobou," he waved it off, albeit decidedly worse for wear.

"Eh, Oishi? What happened, nya? Oishi? What happened?" Eiji pounced on the subject. And Oishi.

It took Oishi and me combined to compound a full account of events for Eiji, and all the others at our table, who had somehow gotten interested.

"Nya?" Eiji cocked his head quizzically, his red curls bouncing. "But Fujiko, the girl was nice to you!"

I was all set to disagree—she'd manhandled everyone else after all—but the words were at the tip of my tongue when I caught myself, and swallowed them again.

He was right.

Now that I thought about it, she _had_ been 'nice' to me. She'd spoken with more friendliness and politeness than a lot of other people I knew. In fact, she'd been _very_ nice.

So how was it that all thoughts I had of her were distasteful?

* * *

"Tachibana An," the teacher called out in a monotone, holding out a sheet of paper.

An took it, gave the name one glance and headed for my desk. "Yours," she handed it to me. "She's mixing us up. Again."

I nodded, rolling my eyes. It was a pure miracle how our Japanese Language sensei could still get it wrong after having both of us in her class for two straight years. No one else thought 'Tachibana An' and 'Tachihisa Saruhi' sounded at all that similar.

"Tachihisa Saruhi," sensei intoned flatly.

"It'll be yours, An." I went out to collect the report for her oral presentation.

"She managed to get these marked pretty quickly," An commented as we skimmed our grades together. "So how did it go?"

"Like you don't know," I grumbled, scanning the report again. I'd only ever just passed this kind of assessment, if at all. I suppose it was how I spoke—I could never act or sound imperturbably confident like An. "A little better than usual, though. Extra points for originality."

An nodded appreciatively.

* * *

I don't know how it happened, but we ended up listening to Eiji talking about one of his classes. "The topic was 'A Smile to Remember'," he told us all eagerly. "It was really sugoi! We had to read it out to two classes! Mine and some Second Year class. I wrote about Oishi!" He looked at his doubles partner proudly. "I said his smile encouraged me to work hard and not give up, ever, nya!"

Oishi chuckled weakly as everyone at our table turned to him amusedly.

"Everyone talked about different people. Ano…" Eiji tapped his chin. "A lot of girls talked about Fujiko!" he recalled excitedly.

It was my turn to smile under scrutiny.

"Ano, ano," Eiji exclaimed as an afterthought. "There was one girl who was really special."

I resisted the urge to chuckle. Could it be that a girl had made a presentation on _Eiji_?

"She talked about a beggar woman!"

I sat up. The image of a hunched figure on a footbridge entered my mind. No that there had to be a definite connection, but I was curious.

"Eto…she said…she said she saw the Obaa-san on a bridge…" Eiji scrunched up his face, trying to remember as I silently urged him on. "The girl gave the Obaa-san some money and…something strange…ano…oh, an orange!"

A few people made puzzled oranges at that.

"And then, Eiji?" I prompted him.

"She said…the Obaa-san's smile…'held a force, an energy, a life that reached her eyes in a way unparalleled by anything I'd ever seen before'," he reeled off all at once, then took a deep breath to make up for the long speech.

Stunned looks were exchanged around the table.

"You remembered that whole quote?" Momo asked dubiously.

"Fshhhh…of course, baka, why now?" Kaidoh muttered.

"NANI?"

I tuned them out. "Ne, Eiji? Who was this girl? Do you know her name?"

"Ano…" The red-head pursed his lips in thought. "I forgot."

"Saa…"

"Demo, demo," he rushed on, "It sounded like…eto…Tachi…Tachi…Tachi-something. I think it might be Tachibana."

Tachibana An? I smiled secretly. From what I'd seen when I'd met her, and what I'd heard of her from Momo, that sounded just like something she would do.

"…or maybe it was Tachihisa. I forgot. Fujiko! Gomen!"

"Iie," I told him. "It's all right, Eiji."

_Tachibana An, ka?_

* * *

Once again it was Saruhi and I walking out of school together. "How long are they going to take, anyway?" I muttered grumpily.

"With what?" she asked. "Those tennis courts?"

"Hell yea," I responded forcefully. "I mean, I understand we're _only the girls' team_, but it would be nice if we got to practice once in a while. Why can't we have half the boys' courts for now until all the renovation in ours is done?"

"I guess it really isn't fair," Saruhi agreed with me. For once. Usually she just asked why I got so worked up about it and what was wrong with street tennis courts? "I suppose if you girls were a nationally well known team they'd take it into consideration, but…"

I groaned in frustration. "Well how are we ever going to become a nationally well known team if they won't even let us—"

"Saa, good afternoon, Tachibana-san."

Turning around, I saw who the newcomer was and my anger disappeared momentarily. "'Tachibana-san', Fuji? What happened to 'An'?"

"Gomen, An-chan," the smiling brunette laughed easily. "Going home now?"

"Obviously," I replied, "Since they don't have the decency to finish up with those tennis courts soon so now my club can't practice. Anyway. You? Photography?"

"Hai," Fuji confirmed.

We waved goodbye a minute later after some polite conversation.

"You know Fuji Syusuke?" Saruhi asked in mild surprise.

"My brother's friend," I answered blithely, and though no more about it.


	3. First Impression

**LIKENESS**

* * *

_Chapter Three - **First Impression**_

* * *

**_- Fuji -_**

"He broke up with me!"

It was the last few minutes of lunch break, and the classroom was three quarters full. However, all was silent, save for the noisy sobs and heart broken gasps of a single girl. She cried as though she couldn't feel twenty pairs of eyes boring into her.

Over the years, I had learned that, unless you knew exactly what you were doing, it was best to leave girls alone and let them calm down gradually by themselves when they came to be in this state. But this time, I couldn't just ignore the situation, since this particular girl was having hysterics at the desk right next to mine. She had been assigned to sit next to me, and had insisted I call her by her given name, Aiko.

"Maa…" I said awkwardly, feeling inside my pocket for a handkerchief.

"He broke up with me," she wailed pitifully.

"No, he didn't." A voice, slightly weary and highly resigned, drew my attention to the doorway where I saw another girl who had entered without my noticing. The newcomer made her way slowly between two rows of desks, finally stopping in front of Aiko. Pulling a few pieces of tissues from a small packet, she wordlessly handed them over.

Aiko buried her face in the soft white material, the epitome of sorrow and despair. "He broke up with me," she insisted again. "He b-broke up with me, Saruhi!"

Her friend, apparently called Saruhi, pulled up a chair and seated herself facing Aiko, both elbows propped up on the latter's desktop. "If he did, then why is he downstairs crying buckets all over An?"

Aiko gave no answer.

Saruhi sighed. "From what he told us, _you_ broke up with _him_, not the other way around," she stated dispassionately in complete disregard for Aiko's distraught state.

"He was _cheating_ on me," Aiko whimpered. "I saw him! He was at the m-mal with her y-yesterday…" She hiccupped. "I told him if he c-can't at least be faithful, he can just g-get lost… And then I walked out but _he didn't follow me_!"

"That's because he thought you'd dumped him," Saruhi said impatiently. "He's a total mess, Aiko."

"He cheated on me!"

"With who? His _cousin_?" Saruhi snorted incredulously. "That girl you saw him with is his cousin Mariko visiting from Chiba."

But evidently, Aiko hadn't been able to hear the other girl over her own bawling.

Saruhi sighed again and looked away, rolling her eyes.

At this moment, one of my other classmates, Tsukahara Sachirou, hurried into the room and made a bee line for Aiko, concern written all over his face. "Aiko," he cried. "I'm so sorry. I heard you just broke up with—"

"Excuse me."

Tsukahara, who had just been about to sit down besides the sobbing girl, stopped in his tracks as Saruhi blocked his way.

"Yes?" he asked distractedly, eyes still on Aiko.

"This probably isn't the best time to talk to her," Saruhi declared authoritatively. "She is very upset and needs some time to quiet down. Perhaps later?"

Tsukahara objected—he was obviously very worried about Aiko—but was firmly turned away by an uncompromising Saruhi. Unhappily, he started to go back to his own seat, brushing past yet another newcomer whom, again, I hadn't noticed arrive.

Tachibana An took one look at the still grieving Aiko and Tsukahara's dejectedly retreating back, and fixed an indignant glare on Saruhi. "Why'd you do that?"

Saruhi matched her with an even gaze, and said placidly, "Aiko needs to calm down."

"Exactly!" An exclaimed angrily. "And I'd have thought some comforting would help her manage it a bit faster!"

"I know," Saruhi agreed, albeit remaining unmoved. "But having someone wipe her tears and coo into her ear isn't exactly the best idea now, I think."

An exploded. "Do you _want_ her to stay miserable?"

"No," Saruhi said firmly, a hint of snap lacing her tone. "But I _do_ want her to learn from her mistakes, for once. Kami knows _that's_ long overdue."

"_Saruhi!_" An's mouth opened and shut but seemed unable to form words. The girl at last flung her hands up in exasperation. "For Kami's sake! Leave the life lessons for later! Aiko's messed up right now, you hear me? She needs _help_, not a lecture!"

By now, almost everyone in the room had focused their attention upon the two girls facing off, one glowering accusations and the other staring back coldly. Aiko herself, who was still choking and gasping in earnest, seemed to have been forgotten. But, again, forgetting her was something marginally harder for me to do, due to our physical closeness. The tissues Saruhi had given her were already in wet clumps. I sifted through my pockets again.

"An," Saruhi began with painful restraint, "If every time she dumps someone another guy's waiting around the corner to fawn over her, what kind of message would that send her?"

"That's for her to decide!" An had marched up to Saruhi and was very literally yelling in her face. "She's a year older than you, Tachihisa. What makes you think _you'd_ know better than a senpai?"

"Four solid years of personal experience in dealing with her love life," Saruhi deadpanned.

Finally, I located my missing handkerchief. I held it out to Aiko with no small amount of apprehension. "Saa, Aiko, do you need…?"

"Oh, _Fuji-kun_!" Grabbing the scrap of cloth from between my fingers, she collapsed onto my shoulder.

I patted her on the back gingerly, feeling several hostile sneers directed at me from nearby male classmates—with her baby blue eyes and golden hair in bouncy ringlets tied into two pigtails, Aiko was considered among Seigaku's most sought after beauties. The other boys were clearly less than pleased with me for 'making a move' on her.

Hearing Aiko's squeal of gratitude, Saruhi glanced around. She saw the blond clutching my arm like a lifeline and sniffed contemptuously. "Never mind, An. You can call in any number of boys you like to 'comfort' her now, since _somebody_ already screwed things up." With that, she strode away from Aiko, past An and out of the room without a backward look.

Not waiting to watch her go, An hurried over and inserted more tissues into Aiko's trembling hand, returning my damp handkerchief to me. "Thank Kami _you're_ being reasonable, Fuji," she beamed.

The bell rang, signaling the beginning of afternoon class, and she jumped.

"I've got to go," she hastened to say. "You'll keep an eye on Aiko for me, won't you? Seeing as Saruhi doesn't want to be nice?"

I smiled weakly.

* * *

**_- Saruhi -_**

Grinding my teeth, fuming and feeling horribly spiteful, I stormed back into my own classroom, where the last dregs of students coming back from lunch outings were dribbling in. Lips pursed and face scrunched up in a decidedly sour expression, I flung myself into my chair.

The pressure within my chest was building.

I thought I might cry. Or scream. Or rage and shout.

I did none of those things.

Instead, my hands moved upwards to cover my face, shutting out the uncaring, hatefully happy scene of the cheerful, chattering class around me. Inhaling through shaking fingers, I fought to slow my agitated breathing, letting out the anger, the resentment, the _bitterness_ slowly, slowly…

It was then that I found out it hurts to be disappointed.

That it twists your insides to have your hopes dashed.

And that to find out you were wrong about someone you admire can majorly ruin your whole day.

"Sorry about Saruhi, Fuji," I felt compelled to apologize after watching her walk out of school, ramrod straight and unrepentant. "She's normally not like that. I have no idea what her problem is."

"It's all right." He smiled understandingly. "Perhaps she's feeling off color."

I rolled my eyes. "Doubt it. She was fine this morning."

We were heading for the school tennis courts. I had no idea why I was going, since _my_ club's courts were _still_ out of commission. In the distance, I could see the crowds converging around the fenced in enclosures, eagerly awaiting their star athletes and idols.

"How can you _stand_ those girls?" I asked Fuji, frowning as the first few squealing fans spotted him and announced his arrival by, well, squealing.

He laughed. "They're not a fate worse than death, An-chan."

"That's what Saruhi said too," I grumbled. "I don't _get _you two."

I got the feeling there was something Fuji wanted to say in reply, but he was cut off when someone bounded up to him.

"Fuji-kun!"

"Kon'nichiwa, Aiko," he said politely, even though he'd probably last seen her in class a mere ten minutes ago.

"Ne, ne, Fuji-kun," the girl bubbled eagerly. "Can I watch you practice today? _Please_?" She cocked her head, blond curls bouncing.

"If you want," Fuji answered, his tone neutral.

"Oooh, _thank you_, Fuji-kun!" Aiko ran off again, her cheeks tinted pink.

I watched her go, raising a brow at Fuji amusedly. "And thus the ranks of your admirers swell by one more."

He only chuckled.

* * *

**_- An -_**

Walking with An, talking to her, it came as naturally to me as though she were my sister, Yumiko. I found it refreshing to be conversing with a girl who wasn't constantly blushing and stuttering, or arching brows, tossing her hair and making over exaggerated efforts to sound sophisticated.

"Well, here we are," she said grumpily on reaching the clubhouse servicing the boys' tennis team. "You say your photo shoot is supposed to take place here?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "We're going to practice photo taking involving motion."

"Okay. Have fun, I guess," she muttered dubiously as though unsure of why anyone would find something like photography fun. "I'll be going now, seeing as the school can't be bothered to hurry up with those courts so my club can train."

I smiled as she huffed. "That's really a pity. You have a tournament coming up, don't you?"

She looked away from the offending courts and up at me in surprise. "How'd you know that?"

"I do have a few friends in the tennis circle, even if I'm not technically playing anymore."

"Oh. Right. I keep forgetting. Well then, see you whenever, Fuji." Waving, she swung around and started to walk away.

Setting down my camera equipment, I watched her go, wondering at how wistful I felt about losing her company. I was beginning to think it had been a waste not to have seen her socially more often before.

"An!"

She looked over her shoulder. "Hm?"

"Maa, how would you like it if we played a little tennis today? At those public courts near here? I could help you with your training, if you like…"

Her face lit up at once. "Really? You could find time for that? That would be great!"

Smiling and feeling oddly happier about her answer than was strictly necessary, I made arrangements for us to meet after I had finished my club activities, and she had warmed up.

* * *

**Author's Note**: The only question here, I suppose, is whose first impression of who is the chapter title referring to? I think it's fairly obvious, and if you can see that then the general trend of the story should be pretty plain by now. Not saying it's all that original, but I can at least pride this story on not being one of those fics where the girl lets her hair down from her usual ponytail and takes the boys' breaths away by looking stunning in an evening gown or something. I'm sorry to those I might have offended, but those scenes just annoy me and are way overdone.


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